When we got you, you were supposed to be half golden retriever, half german shepherd. My favorite dog, and Terry's favorite dog, respectively. You have no golden retriever in you at all. That leaves me screwed to begin with. I have worked with you, trained you, and taught you how to behave. Here are some notes on how this is going:
The garbage is not an all you can eat buffet. If you consider it as such, you must eat every scrap, not leave it strewn around the kitchen for me to clean up.
The incessant barking at the crazy lady who walks around the neighborhood is driving me bonkers. Soon I'll be the next crazy lady.
The dining room table is for people. Not four legged animals.
You must leave our little dog alone. She doesn't like you. Stop trying to entice her to play. And stop throwing the tennis ball at me. I'm busy.
Diapers are not food. That's disgusting. Now I have more sewing to do, to repair the freaking holes you put in the linings.
If you ever chew up a knitted soaker again, I will give you to the pound.
Sincerely,
Your Owner
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